Storm
by zorrie
Summary: Matt, Mello, and how they ended up having sex in the rain. Nothing explicit, just fluff.


The lamp on the bedside table threw everything into crazy shadows, infinitely longer than the objects casting them. The alarm clock cast a six foot stripe against the floor. Matt checked the display and bit back a groan.

"Mello, _what_? And why?"

"It's raining, you dipshit." Mello sounded annoyed, as though being forced to state the obvious. As though _It's raining_ explained why Mello was grabbing Matt by the shoulder, and shaking him, and shaking the bed, and pissing Matt the hell off. As though it explained why Mello was attempting conversation before Matt's first nicotine fix of the day.

Mello was definitely not getting any for a week if it killed him now. That's just the price he'd have to pay for trying to talk to Matt at _three in the morning_ when they'd pulled four all-nighters that week. It wasn't even Friday. Matt pulled his pillow over his head, refusing to look at his erstwhile lover. He'd made it clear a thousand times. Mello could probably – no, definitely – manage to pull off sexily disheveled, but Matt was groggy, comparatively frumpy, and not in the mood.

"Go fuck yourself," Matt mumbled into the mattress, which sounded more like 'goghrewrphrmph'. Or something. He gave Mello the finger to clarify his message.

"Sorry, no."

Mello attempted to peel back the duvet, but Matt let go of his pillow, rolled over, and snatched at the covers angrily. He glared balefully up at Mello, sitting cross legged beside him and practically _bouncing_. Outside, thunder rolled.

"Strike two."

"Hmm?" Mello trailed his fingers absently through Matt's hair, and Matt relaxed a bit. He was still infuriated, of course. But he was also tired, and that felt nice.

"Three strikes and you're not getting sex for a week," Matt explained. (Wait, what? Hadn't Mello earned himself that already by just waking him up?)

Mello traced incomprehensible patterns down Matt's neck and rubbed circles over his shoulder. Then he went back to running his hands through Matt's hair, watching it catch in the lamplight. "That's the first I hear of this," he murmured. He twisted strands of red around his fingers, smiling as Matt shivered.

"Is not." Matt sank further into the covers, hoping they could just go back to sleep now. "Shut up."

Mello closed his fingers and tugged, and Matt yelped. "Sorry, what?"

"_You_," Matt gritted out, "didn't have to pull my hair!"

"I know, but I wanted to," Mello said blithely. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Matty?"

"For the love of god – "

Mello gave another sharp pull, and Matt let out a strangled _mmph! _but otherwise said nothing.

"Matty, it's raining."

"I know, Mello."

Mello smiled, and sucked on his bottom lip. Provocatively. His hands spread out on the mattress on either side of Matt's face,and before Matt had time to repent for his sins Mello slid a leg over his waist, caught his wrists, and smirked. That smirk was damning.

"There's something I want to try," Mello said, and Matt fought the urge not to roll his eyes. He lost.

"Mello, what haven't you tried? What haven't _we_ tried? We put karma sutra to shame, that's for sure."

Mello just smiled cryptically.

"And what's this have to do with 'It's raining'?"

"Why, everything." And Mello leant forward just enough for his hair to brush Matt's face, just close enough for Matt to get a whiff of chocolate vodka. A deafening crack coincided with a brief flood of light, like a camera's flashbulb, and Mello laughed. "It's a thunderstorm, Matt. And next week we're going chasing Kira."

"Takada, technically," Matt said, "but yeah."

"We've never had sex in the rain, Matt," Mello whispered. His arms gave out and he fell on top of Matt, shimmying down until he could rest his chin on Matt's chest, peering up beneath his bangs. "I think it'd be nice. To try, just once. You know?"

And Mello never talks in sentence fragments, and Matt never agrees to anything before he's had his first cigarette, but they've never had sex in the rain before and it's true. That they're going after Kira next week, and after that, there won't be anything else.

It'd be nice to try something new, to try it just once, before they die.

Matt lets Mello pull him up, and they roll off the bed and slip outside where rain is roaring down in sheets and it's freezing and the sky is black. Every so often it cracks with lightning that burns like a frayed whip of fire, and the storm drowns out their noise in its own fury.


End file.
